


Temporality

by LanternWisp



Series: Nests and Cages [5]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Batfamily Feels, Family Drama, Gen, Wayne Gala
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 12:14:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11252970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LanternWisp/pseuds/LanternWisp
Summary: The Wayne Winter Gala is the biggest annual charity event for Gothamite elite. This means that in order to uphold his new identity, Jason is obligated to grin and bear it for the whole damn thing. This gets a bit more difficult when Talia shows up.





	Temporality

**Author's Note:**

> For the Batfam Week prompt: Wayne Gala

The Wayne Winter Gala was the largest socialite event of the year, every year, and probably had been since the days of yore when Bruce’s ancestors first broke dirt on what would become Gotham City. Jason was sure it had some kind of history behind it, some sort of meaning tacked on that was meant to justify hordes of rich people patting themselves on the back over champagne and finger foods with pretentious names. Hell if he could remember it, though.

The light in his face was a problem. He groaned and tried to burrow away from it.

“Master Jason, please.”

He groaned louder this time, with his head still buried stubbornly beneath his pillow. The curtains of his room were thrown wide open, letting the sun beam directly across his bed.

“The caterers and decorators have already arrived, sir. I’ve made a lovely brunch for you, but I’m afraid you’ll have to be dressed for it.” 

Jason peered blearily out from under the pillow, eyes narrowed in suspicion. He knew when he sensed a trap.

“I’m not going.”

“To eat, sir?” Alfred asked, unimpressed as always.

“The party. I’m not going.”

“That would be a terrible shame indeed.”

“Not for me.”

“I will be most disappointed. I realize the gala is not as ‘colorful’ as your last social adventure, but I had hoped you would endure.”

“That wasn’t- I didn’t mean for any of that to go down like it did Alfred, you know that.”

“I am sure there were many things you didn’t mean when you asked me for permission to go out that afternoon.”

There it was. Straight for the throat.

Jason covered his face with both hands.

“How long do I have to stay.”

“Normally I would be more lenient sir, but I feel like a few hours of your time is the least you could sacrifice if it means replacing the press’ most recent memory of you.” 

Damn. “Cass is stuck in it too?”

“ _She_ is already dressed.”

Even after Alfred left, Jason dragged his feet through his morning routine. He dressed, side-eyeing the garment cover hanging from his wardrobe and already cringing at the ridiculous suit he knew was in there. 

He hadn’t minded _all_ of the posh parties that Bruce took him to as a kid. Premiers for museum exhibits, or fundraisers that benefitted kids and had the appropriate entertainment had been favorites of his. But to endure wearing a suit in his own house amongst hundreds of pompous, wealthy strangers? God no.

Jason took the service hallways to circumvent the bustle of staff that were setting up for the party. The ballroom and banquet hall would be decked out by now, and the large downstairs kitchen they never used would be crowded with people prepping the charity dinner. 

When he made it to the smaller, more lived-in dining room, he practically fell into his chair.

“Well look who’s awake,” Dick said, smearing jam on toast with far too much enthusiasm for the morning.

“Look who’s here.” Jason grumbled back, reaching for the hash browns.

“Spent the night. I’ll probably crash here again after the party’s over.”

“Hm.”

Dick had been living out of the penthouse for the past three months or so, despite spending an inordinate amount of time down in the cave anyway. He had various excuses for not leaving Gotham, citing recent drama or Terry as reasons to stick around while stubbornly refraining from actually moving back into the manor. Not that Jason was one to judge. He was still looking for an apartment that would mean his own impractical commute to the cave.

“Who’s watching the streets tonight?” He asked.

“Batgirl and Oracle,” Cass said. “Huntress too.”

“It’s probably going to be mostly low-tier crime tonight anyway,” Tim said, scanning the morning paper with basic interest. “If anyone wants to make a major play, the gala is the best target.”

“And even without half of the city’s vigilantes living here, the security on this place is ridiculous. Great. So it’s going to be a boring night on all fronts.”

“I hear some of us are going to be released earlier than others,” Damian said pointedly. “You have only yourselves to blame. I warned you Todd, and you and Cain still went and disgraced the family.”

“Yeah, yeah. The only reason you’re getting out before eleven is because you’re still young enough to justify a bedtime, shrimp.” Jason said, smirking as Cass flicked some oatmeal into Damian’s tea.

There was still a heavy layer of the bizarre tinging the scene; the sheer audacity that Jason could sit at this table with these people and eat breakfast like it was normal. Like this was what normalcy looked like for him now. He kept telling himself that it all had a shelf life, that at some point he was going to move out and then things would revert back to what they were. 

In moments like this, that almost felt hard to believe.

* * *

 

Hours rolled by and eventually Jason had no choice but to force himself into a tailored tuxedo that he didn’t even want to speculate the price of.

“Bow ties were cute when I was twelve. This is just unholy,” Jason said, tugging at it as he walked down the spotless hall. “You’re positive I don’t look like a waiter?”

“You look fine Jason,” Bruce said as he adjusted his cufflinks. 

They were headed for the grand foyer, the minutes counting down to the arrival of their guests. Outside the press were already jostling about with their cameras on the front lawn.

“So how am I going to play this? ‘Entitled trust fund prick’ is going to make me want to bash my _own_ teeth in. I guess they’re expecting ‘Bruce Wayne and Talia Head’s unwanted scandal child that grew up in a hidden cupboard’. Not wildly off from the truth.” 

Bruce stopped short. Jason nearly stumbled to a halt beside him. When he looked up he actually felt a jolt from the force of the older man’s stare.

“Is that what you think?” Bruce asked, his voice quietly dangerous. 

“I-” It took Jason a moment to collect his words. “I just mean they’re already wondering. And they’re going to be asking questions about why I haven’t been around all these years.”

“That,” Bruce said, his eyes bright and honestly angry in a way that made something inside of Jason want to retreat, “was never _my_ choice.”

Then Bruce resumed his pace with a vengeance, and anything Jason might have said was lost in the opening of the entrance hall doors and the wave of flashing cameras. He went to stand with the others through Bruce’s opening speech, but the whole thing passed in a haze. 

He couldn’t help but absently repeat those words in his mind.

_Never my choice._

Of course Jason had known that. He’d made it a periphery life mission of his to defy Batman’s wants, but something just felt… off. Being at his first socialite gathering since he was a kid made the experience that much more disconcerting.

Because it wasn’t Bruce’s choice that Jason hadn’t been to a gala in years. Nor was it his choice that Jason hadn’t been sat at the table with the others for a thousand morning breakfasts. Not coming home had been _Jason’s_ choice. 

And he wasn’t sorry, when he looked back. Circumstances being what they were, Jason still couldn’t see how he could have returned to the manor like nothing had ever happened.

So why did he suddenly feel so off balance?

He tried to shrink into the shadows as the guests poured in. Dick and Tim were the ones who could fake a smile, even if the latter was clearly zoning out if anyone cared to pay close enough attention to him. Damian was suffering at Bruce’s side, enduring the face-pinching and head-patting with frankly surprising tolerance. 

Jason jumped at the hand on his back.

“Okay?” Cass asked, eyes large and earnest. 

“Uh. Yeah.” He shook his head and put an arm around her waist. “Let’s get this over with.”

There was an instant upspike in activity from both the cameras and in the murmurings of guests. Jason pulled away and followed the direction of Bruce’s stony gaze.

A limousine had pulled up and Talia Head was now making the graceful climb up the front stairs.

Jason didn’t need to have super senses to feel the way Cass bristled beside him. He was pretty sure the feeling of oncoming dread that was washing over him was also plain to see.

“I’m going to fight her.”

“That is the last thing we need,” he said, still feeling like he was running on some foggy automatic setting. “Maybe she’s here for the…”

He couldn’t even finish the sentence. Sending someone else to represent LexCorp would have done just as well for whatever public gesture she might have wanted to make. Surely Talia knew what the media was saying about them and what her being there looked like. 

Jason waded through the crowd, which had drawn back somewhat from where Bruce and Talia had met. She was casually tidying Damian’s hair when she noticed him.

“Jason. I was just wondering where you were.”

“Uh. Yeah.”

Jason didn’t know what he felt when he looked at her. He might have accepted that she was secretive as fuck from the onset, but his maternity had been one hell of a thing to keep to herself. 

But Talia had been good to him. When his whole life ended, she had helped him make a new one. That still counted for something.

“I hope the commute didn’t give you trouble,” Bruce said stiffly. “I know you’re quite a busy woman.”

“If I couldn’t take the time tonight of all nights, it would be rather careless of me wouldn’t it?” She replied with a cool smile.

“We would have understood.”

“You’re too kind.”

“Hardly.”

Damian and Jason exchanged uncomfortable glances as Bruce and Talia proceeded to stare each other down.

“Father,” Damian said tentatively. “perhaps we should proceed inside.”

“Of course.” Bruce didn’t break eye contact as he gestured towards the main hall. “Please.”

Talia’s smile strained politeness as she took Jason’s arm.

“Come and catch up with me, Jason. You know I saw your recent adventure in the news.”

“Oh, yeah. That was…” Jason glanced over his shoulder as they walked further into the manor and wow, that wasn’t an expression he _ever_ wanted to see on Bruce’s face again. “Ahem. Mostly accidental.”

“And which part was the accident?”

“Everything after the first jello shot.”

The hall was lined with tables of food, wait staff milling amongst the guests and carrying trays of champagne. Another table was set up for the charity raffle: a 7-day retreat to a glamorous vacation house, a sports car and VIP passes to a Parisian fashion week were up for grabs. Apparently that was the rich people version of winning a candy basket and some free movie tickets.

“Don’t take this the wrong way Talia, but why are you here?” Jason asked.

“I was concerned about you. Given recent events it isn’t surprising that you might be out of sorts.” She batted his hand away from the passing tray of alcohol. “But certain behaviors really aren’t like you.”

“Okay, I know things after the party got out of hand,” he said. “I really did not expect low tier alcohol to hit me so hard.”

“Jason. There are certain things you really ought to be wary of,” Talia said seriously.

“Drunk driving, I know -”

“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about what your father gave you.”

“What, Bruce? He didn’t… oh.” Jason pulled his arm away. “I made it clear that I don’t care about _him_.” 

“Perhaps you should care. It’s a subtle gift, one that I had a hard time distinguishing from the pit’s influence. But it has the potential to override your judgement, and your emotions have always been… vibrant.”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Jason said. “I don’t want to be reminded about how you _knew_ about this-”

“I was trying to protect you. You’re young still -”

“I’m not a child.”

“And I thought we had more time.” Talia finished. “I’m telling you now. Engaging in activities that magnify impulsive behavior could put you in danger.”

“I’m always in danger.” He grumbled. “Whatever’s in my genetics, I can handle it. I’m fine leaving the past where it is.”

Talia frowned but didn’t press the issue.

After what felt like a small eternity the mingling chapter of the evening was done and people began to funnel into the room set aside for the auction. Jason made sure to slip away for that; Alfred could forgive him for not watching the elite bid on various art and antiques for an hour.

Instead he waited in the hall, poking fish eggs with a cracker. 

Of all the times and topics for Talia to start being honest with him. Jason didn’t know what the deal was with his biological father and he’d have been happy to forget the man existed. The more Jason heard, the stranger his internal picture of him became - this man who had somehow managed to mean something to Lady Shiva. 

Frankly Jason didn’t believe the hype. Whatever “gift” people kept going on about, it sure hadn’t done much for him. Just added another few weeks of recovery time for his leg. 

Talia was being overprotective, per usual.

She was always trying to slow him down, to make him take more time. Waiting out the pit madness. Waiting for his emotions to level out. If Ra’s hadn’t “died”, she probably would have kept stalling him forever.

Forever? No, that wasn’t right. 

Keeping Jason had never been in her plan. She took him in so she could clean him up and give him back to Bruce. Then when Jason decided he wanted Bruce dead, Talia tried to delay and lead him in a different direction - to be a member of Damian’s future League, apparently. If things had gone according to _that_ plan, Bruce never would have known Jason was back.

But Bruce had been the whole point. Even if the pit’s effects had dissipated, Jason would have wanted to face him eventually.

Talia would’ve… she would have let him do anything he wanted once he was in his right mind. He was sure of it. For all her secrets and personal agendas, she had never truly refused him anything. What he wanted, she tried to accommodate. He had always been in control. 

Jason hastily stood and tossed the remains of the caviar into a potted plant as the doors to the auction room opened. 

Damian was the first to emerge, looking vaguely shaken.

“They got into a bid war over an 18th century gold-gilt Rococo clock,” he said vacantly.

“How bad?”

The boy snapped to him with angry eyes that had seen too much.

“Mother should not even _be_ here. This is all your doing and you’d better be making reparations T- _Jason._ ” Damian’s face twitched, like calling him by first name had been physically painful.

“My-” Jason hurriedly lowered his voice, the pair of them taking a few side-steps away from the flow of guests. “How the hell is this _my_ fault!?”

Damian growled, his cheeks puffed in indignation. “Enough of a scene has been made already. We are to keep them separate at all costs until the end of the evening. Understood?”

“Yeah, sure, fine.”

“Good.” Damian straightened his tie. “... Dibs on father.”

“You demonic little munchkin.”

Good to know he wasn’t the only one trying to dodge his issues, at least. 

Jason still sat with Talia through the charity dinner with some other corporate bigwigs who were too busy schmoozing up to her to pay him much mind. A Gotham ballet company did a performance on the stretch of parquet flooring at the head of the room, and all in all there were plenty of excuses to not talk. 

Jason barely tasted the expensive food, hyperaware of Bruce’s eyes locked on them from his table across the banquet hall. Whatever attempt Damian was making at distraction clearly wasn’t going very well.

* * *

 

As they entered the final phase of the evening Jason was seriously ready for it all to be over.

A full orchestra was playing in the ballroom under the light of crystal chandeliers, and he was hoping and praying that nobody was going to ask him to dance. Refusing invitations with bad excuses probably wouldn’t go over as well as it had when he was a kid.

Talia got plenty of invites though, which left him to wander around the ballroom trying desperately to look busy. 

At some point Tim had slipped away, probably to the cave after a night of blatantly having his phone on under his table. Dick was still there, despite having been cleared to hit the streets as Nightwing an hour ago. Damian had dutifully spent most of the night at Bruce’s elbow, but the time was fast approaching for his release as well.

He felt a gentle poke and suddenly Cass was at his side, a disgruntled crease in her brow.

“Well hey. Having fun?”

Her frown intensified. “Dance with me.”

She was already slipping her hand in his and tugging him to the floor.

“It’s been a while since I did this. Might step on your toes.”

“You will not,” she said confidently.

From the moment his hands were in position, she was leading. Probably for the best.

"So are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

“You have been with Her all night," Cass said sharply. "Why.”

“What do you mean why?” Jason asked, eyebrow raised at the accusing tone of her voice. “The kid and I agreed to keep Talia and Bruce separate. I know I saw Vale lurking around somewhere and she’d just love to report firsthand on a Wayne-Head brawl. You've already made clear that you'd be no help.”

Cass looked him over skeptically, and it was a good thing he had gotten used to her laser-scan gaze because it could be downright _eerie_.

“You should tell him that,” she said finally, apparently satisfied with what she’d seen.

Jason looked over at Bruce, who was smiling tightly at some of socialites gathered around him on the edge of the dancefloor. His eyes were subtly flicking to his champagne glass and Jason would bet he was watching Talia in its reflection.

“What do you mean?”

Cass made a frustrated sound. “You can be very dense, on things that matter to you.”

“Humor me.”

“He doesn’t need her kept away from _him_ ,” Cass said slowly, like it was something painfully obvious. “He wants her away from _you_.”

“Why, because of the Shiva thing? I think I have more right to be pissed about that than he does.”

Cass rolled her eyes at him. “He is worried that she will take you again.”

Jason missed a beat, stumbling lightly.

“ _Take_ me? I’m not a piece of silverware,” Jason said irritably. “If I go someplace it’s because _I_ wanted to. He should get that straight.”

“You are not understanding.”

“I understand just fine. I’m an adult okay, I can’t be stolen.”

“Why not?” Cass asked. “You were the first time.”

“I wasn’t - that’s not what happened. You don’t know what...” 

They came to a halt in the center of the dance floor, mercifully only a few seconds before the song ended. 

He swallowed dryly.  “I need some air.”

“Jason,”

He pressed through the crowd and out of the ballroom, slipping through one of the glass doors to the back. The cold chill on the veranda was nothing compared to what he was used to on the rooftops of Gotham.

Jason descended the steps to the back garden, which was crystallized in snow and frost and now glittering beneath the light of artfully placed lanterns. Past the fountain and the hedges and a frozen bird bath, he fumbled through the door to the greenhouse. 

Even in winter the air was thicker inside its glass walls. His dress shoes trod over the white stone gravel and dead leaves, the lights outside casting long shadows from the various bare vines and branches. He pulled up a metal garden chair, uncaring about dust or dirt getting on his stupidly expensive suit. 

He remembered playing here when he was younger. Everything had seemed much larger back then, so full of unlocked secrets. Now it was just a dark corner of the world for him to gather his wits in.

“I wasn’t stolen,” he said to no one.

He rested his face in his hands. Jason had told himself so convincingly for so long that he hadn't missed anything in this house. Not the grounds, not his old room, not eating at that dining table and especially not being strong armed into ritzy parties. None of it. So why, why did it feel like there was a hole inside him when he thought about how long it had been?

_ Six years. _  It felt like time lost, even with his mind still shouting that it wasn't the case. 

Talia had only ever done what he’d wanted her to. What he had thought he’d wanted at the time. His choice. All of it was _his_ choice.  But…

“Jason?”

He looked up and Talia was there, hand fogging the glass of the greenhouse door as she held it open.

“Are you alright? You left in such a hurry. Were you overwhelmed?”

A familiar question in a familiar tone for a familiar scene. Early after the pit she would sometimes find him - in closets, in his room, on the roof or somewhere outside. _Were you overwhelmed?_ He’d say nothing, just curl up tighter with his hands over his eyes or ears. She’d soothe him with soft touches or sung words in old languages he didn’t yet understand. He hadn’t understood much, in those days.

“Why did you keep me?” His voice was rough, everything in him felt rough; his insides all raw and chafed.

Talia recoiled slightly. 

“... I couldn’t let my father discard you. The pit was a last resort. I did everything I could to prevent that final measure. You know that.”

He did. He had few memories of that chapter, like it had been a distant dream. Mostly prodding doctors and mystics and Talia holding his hand throughout. But even with no idea of where or who he was, Jason had known deep in his soul that this woman was safety.

“After the pit. Why did you keep me then?”

“You were influenced too strongly by the Lazarus waters,” Talia said cautiously. “You were set on killing your father.”

“He could have handled me. Before my training, when I was just a rabid sixteen-year-old. He’d have been fine,” Jason said. “So you thought… what, that in a year I’d be calm and battle ready and he’d see what a good job you’d done with me? And me becoming a killer, did that ruin it for you?”

He'd been nineteen when he returned to Gotham and for years he had been so sure that was Bruce's fault, that the man hadn't wanted or had just made it impossible for Jason to come home. But for all the ways that Bruce had hurt him, one thing he hadn't done was throw Jason away. 

“You wanted the training, Jason. I only gave what you asked for to buy us more time,” Talia said. “I never had any intention of letting you hurt him, not until my father died and I became compromised.”

He gave a weak laugh. “Let’s not lie and say there was ever a point where anyone here wasn’t compromised. For once… please. I want the truth.”

For a long moment there was only the wind whistling against the outside of the clouded greenhouse walls.

“Bruce would have taken you away,” Talia said, so quiet that he had to strain to hear. “Like my father took Damian away. Only I would have never seen you again, and if I had betrayed you to your father you would have wanted it that way. You would not forgive me.”

She sounded so sure.

"You couldn't have believed that."

"I had only three options - return you to your father and lose you forever, deny you your crusade and have you slip away in some night to pursue it alone, or I could give you what you asked for. And keep you."

Jason was shaking his head, biting into his bottom lip and tasting blood. 

“I’ve been trying to make sense of it, trying to keep track of your intentions and it’s _maddening_. You say I wasn’t a pawn and I wasn’t a project for your guilt so now I need… I need you to tell me.” He stood up. “What am I to you?”

Talia looked at him, her eyes glistening in the light.

“You are my son, Jason.” 

The wind shook the greenhouse with a vengeance, but her voice was clear.

“Not by blood or by law. But I know it to be true in my heart. I saved you for your father, but as time wore on it became… harder, to think of losing you.”

He still had blurry memories of the pre-pit days, of Talia speaking soft words about Bruce and how much Jason was missed. As more time passed those talks became less frequent. You're unavenged, she would say instead. He has a new Robin, she would tell him while showing the pictures. 

And any thoughts he might have had of returning home had turned green and violent and bitter.

“It’s kidnapping,” Jason said, the wet on his face turning cold in the winter air. “You know that? It’s - I was -”

Stolen.

“I never intended it to be this way,” Talia said, and then she was there with her hands on his arms. “I only had the best intentions in my care for you. I wanted to give everything to you. I can still give you everything. Please understand -” 

“What’s going on here?” They both froze, and for a long moment Jason could swear even his own heart had locked up.

Bruce was in the greenhouse doorway, his broad figure framed against the light and newly falling snow. Even cloaked in shadows could the firm set of his jaw and the sharpness of his eyes be seen.

Talia’s hands momentarily tightened on Jason’s arms as she turned back to him.

Her voice was scarcely more than a whisper.

“I have made mistakes. I’ve done terrible things. But for however long you choose to hate me for them, you have to know, Jason. I did it for love. And I will always be there, with love for you, should you need me.”

She pulled away and Jason didn’t realize that he’d been holding onto her until his grip came loose. Talia walked the stretch of the greenhouse until she came to the door. 

For a long minute Bruce didn’t move, just looked at her. Then he wordlessly stepped aside, and in a whirl of snow she was gone.

The comparative speed with which he crossed the gravel to Jason was disorienting.

“Are you alright? What happened?” Bruce hesitated before taking the handkerchief from his pocket and pressing it to Jason’s cheek. “You’re crying.”

Jason choked on a laugh. 

“Yeah. Like old times. It’s uh…” He swallowed. “It’s been a pretty tough year, huh?”

Bruce’s hands rested on his shoulders as Jason dried his own face. 

“You’re home. That makes it one of the best years I’ve had in a long time.”

* * *

 

As it turned out, Jason didn’t have to stay until the end of the gala after all. 

Alfred had taken a look at him and in his usual saintly way said nothing about the blotchiness of Jason's face. Instead he tsked at the state of his suit and instructed him to go upstairs to change for the night. Less than an hour later there was a dessert tray in Jason's room.

For a while he just sat numbly in front of the window, shoving mini pies in his mouth on automatic and watching the trickle of departing limousines as the party neared its end.

Then he felt the presence hovering behind him.

“You totally failed at your job, by the way.”

“Tt. You’re the one who had to make a dramatic exit. If you didn’t want to be pursued you could have had some subtlety.”

Damian had his arms crossed defensively across his chest, eyes trained on an empty corner of the room.

“Mother looked… displeased, when she left.”

Jason said nothing.

“I’d never seen her that way before,” Damian said.

“Seems like you didn’t see much of her at all.”

“My education and training took precedence. Grandfather wanted me groomed for my destiny, and mother would have been too…”

“Compromised.”

Damian met his eyes, looking unhappy and conflicted and so much like a kid.

“Seeing her was like meeting a mythic figure, when it happened. But she always had to be very careful, or else grandfather would have…” Damian shook his head. “It no longer matters. I have made my decision. Am I right to suspect you’ve made yours?”

“Decision?”

“It’s either her or father. You have had a merry time with your little rebellions, but the time for being coy is done. Are you with us or not?”

Jason turned back to the window.

“When you get older you’ll realize that it’s not all black and white like that.”

“Do not patronize or talk to me about moral platitudes, Todd.” Damian snapped. “I am trying to parley with you. I can generously concede that you were not in full possession of your faculties in the past, but if we are to now coexist -”

“I already made my deal with Bruce. I’m not killing in his city and I’ve ditched the crime lord gig. Beyond that I don’t know what’s happening.” Jason lazily examined the pie in his hand. “And it’s not Todd anymore.”

“So it’s _Head,_ then?” Damian sneered. “Is that your choice?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Well you’d best decide soon. Just who _are_ you?” 

Damian turned heel and made for the door.

“Hey,” Jason called, stopping him. “Your mom. As much as things are fucked up, you know she loves you right?”

Damian’s expression tightened somewhat, his knuckles going briefly white as he gripped the doorframe.

“It no longer matters,” he repeated, voice cracking towards the end. “Sentiment doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change anything.”

Jason watched him go before pressing his forehead to the cold glass. Outside was the same view he’d grown up with, even if the room wasn’t recognizable anymore. The old relics were gone, replaced with new clothes and sheets and tech. Furniture had been rearranged, the bookshelf expanded. It felt like it could be his again. If he wanted it.

“I know who I am,” Jason murmured, fogging the glass.

It was everybody else that seemed hellbent on making things difficult. Confusing him. Changing the rules.

There was a sudden outpouring of guests from the front doors, and the chain of limos and chauffeurs now stretched far beyond the front gates. The gala was over.

Jason took his time meandering through the halls and descending the stairs, too drained to care about any stragglers catching a glimpse of him in his pajamas. It was far from the most scandalous thing about him at the moment.  The gala committee was too busy anyway with packing up their things in the entrance hall.

Eventually he found Bruce in his office, the same office that Jason used to write letters in. 

“What do you think?” Bruce asked without turning around.

He was still in his suit, thoughtfully considering a golden clock that was perched on the mantle.

“That I _don’t_ want to think about how much you paid for it,” Jason said, leaning the office door closed.

Bruce chuckled, adjusting the clock so that it was more centered. “I’d say it was worth every penny and then some.”

Jason snorted. “It doesn’t even go with anything.”

“Maybe you don’t see what I do.”

He rolled his eyes and pushed off from the door. “Look I just wanted to say I’m sorry, alright?”

Bruce turned, expression neutral. “For?”

“You know.” Jason waved his arms vaguely. “The hell parade that I brought into town. Shiva and Talia and the media and the goddamn cop car -”

“Ah. Well, the moments where you put yourself in great danger weren’t especially pleasant for me,” Bruce said. “but that always has been a tendency of yours. I wonder if I am somewhat to blame for that.”

Jason groaned. “Not everything is about you, old man. I really wish you’d let me take responsibility for my own shit once in a while.”

“I’ve already grounded you,” Bruce said blandly.

“Funny. What I mean is, what Talia did wasn’t right but my choices did matter. They always have. I’ll own every last one of them,” Jason said. "And I had my reasons for doing what I did."

"Whatever she told you," Bruce said, hands gripping the back of the chair that Jason used to sit in with his feet dangling above the floor, "whatever you may have thought. I only ever wanted you here. A day didn't go by that I didn't wish you were here, that I could go back and do things differently."

"That's not what it looked like. I don't think you realize just how bad it looked from my end," Jason said.  “And I’ve still got a bone or two to pick with you.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. He was too tired to get into the nitty gritty with Bruce right then. It was a conversation he’d rather be rested, fed and wearing top-tier armor for; not dead tired and mildly dehydrated in his flannel pjs.

“Cass is making me a new suit.”

“I’ve heard.”

“And you remember the terms of our deal, right? You’re not my boss. So long as I follow your rule, what I do in that suit is on me.”

“I remember.”

Jason narrowed his eyes skeptically, but there was nothing to be discerned from Bruce’s blank expression. Cass’ power must’ve been so convenient, working with this guy.

“Whatever happens between me and Talia, it’s nothing to do with us.” Jason gestured between them. “I’m not saying I’ll forgive her, but I'm also not here for this either-or bullshit. You know I don’t deal in absolutes like that.”

“I see,” Bruce said. “And in turn I hope you can realize that I will absolutely never trust her. And should she ever try to take my son from me again, I am absolutely going to fight her.”

“I am not that addled kid anymore,” Jason said impatiently. “If I make a choice, it’s mine.”

“You misunderstand me.” Bruce planted both hands on his desk, his eyes dark and resolute. “No matter what the circumstances Jason, I am always going to fight for you. Always.”

Jason’s throat was tight and there was a strange pang in his chest.

“... I might not make it easy for you.”

“I never expect you to.”

He blinked, unsure if he should feel offended or flattered. He looked back at the overpriced clock on the mantle.

"I still think it's hideous," Jason said finally. "But I guess it can stay."


End file.
